Mockingjay
by Wollywood
Summary: Rewrite of Suzanne Collin's third book in the Hunger Games trilogy for all of those fans who were disappointed because of...well...you know...THE FACT THAT EVERYONE EITHER DIED OR WENT INSANE! So, needless to say, I fixed it.  Read. Enjoy. Comment.


**Okay, Mockingjay depressed me. I cried. All night. I was very sad. It think Suzanne Collins might have been on drugs when she killed Finnick and Prim. Just kidding. But seriously, it was NOT OKAY. I mean, after Hunger Games and Catching Fire (WHICH WERE INCREDIBLE)...Mockingjay was like a completely different book belonging to a completely different series. None of the characters acted like themselves. And if they did, they only kept in character for the first...maybe three chapters of the book. Then they all either went insane or died. Fun stuff right there. So basically, as much as I love Suzanne Collins...I'm rewriting the third book. Completely. Kinda completely. That's the thing. Some scenes were incredible and I'd hate to disclude them...SOOOOOOOOOOOOO... yeah, I'm combining my ideas with Suzanne Collins...and hoping I won't get arrested for copyright YAYYYYYY. And my fanfiction is loosely based off others I have read. I have extended on ideas I liked and perfected them (well...as close as my mind can perceive perfection) to the best of my abilities. I hope its good enough for people to actually read...sooooooo ENJOY**

**NOTE: loosely based off the ideas of this person: .com/scholastic/board/message?=Hunger_Games&=11953#M11953 . read it if you feel like it. but here is the first chapter of my versionnnnn**

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><p><strong>1<strong>

"No!" I scream at Haymitch. First, Gale tells me that District 12 has been burnt to ashes, killing most of its inhabitants, and now Haymitch is denying me of my one and only wish? It's too much information to process. It's cruel.

What's more, I'm still being controlled. I am still a pawn in the Capitol's twisted chess game. Except now, the few pure, white pieces I have foolishly trusted are tinged with red. Worse, still, some pieces are missing. Being held in the hands of the enemy. In the hands of President Snow. I wince, remembering the always-present, arrogant smirk plastered on his surgically altered face. The memory of him intruding my house in the Victor's Village (which is one of the few buildings still standing in District 12, according to Gale) still haunts my nightmares. The stench of roses and blood emanating from Snow's mouth is so fresh in my mind, it's nauseating. He warned me of this. I knew he had been plotting all along to destroy those I love. Thereby, destroying me.

Yet here I am, directing my insatiable anger at the person who has just saved my life. Of course, in doing this, Haymitch breached our unwritten contract. He went against his deal to keep Peeta alive at all costs. Even at the cost of my death. But even so, I should be saving this burning hatred for Snow. For killing him. There is no doubt in my mind that I will kill him. The thought calms me, but not enough to keep me from protesting my new fate. Peeta's new fate.

I keep shouting - pleading with Haymitch. I must sound insane. Maybe I am. Being thrown into an arena with 23 relative strangers to fight to the death can do that to someone. Even more so, if that someone is forced to act "in love" in an artificial relationship that blurs the lines between reality and propaganda, just to have it ripped from one's powerless hands. Like Katniss tubers ripped from the ground. Like I was ripped from my old life.

Haymitch is trying to tell me something, but I cannot hear him. I am deafened by my own cries. _We need to rescue Peeta. No matter what consequences, I need to save him. He __**needs**__ to stay alive._

Gale's muscular arms encase my flailing body. I try to fight him off, but to no prevail. I fall limp and he picks me up, placing me onto one of the white sterile beds the District 13 hovercraft has to offer.

"Katniss," Gale soothes me. "It's okay."

I shake my head defiantly and he pulls me close. Protecting me from the inescapable truth. All I can see is his soiled white tee shirt, soaked with a mixture of his sweat and my tears.

"It's okay, Catnip," he says again.

But Gale is wrong. It is not okay. I am not okay. I have endangered everyone I care about - caused many of their deaths, even. Their names flash through my mind, each striking me like an electric shock and I start to shake uncontrollably. Prim. My mother. Rue. The old man from district 11 who took a bullet in the head for me. Darius. The Avox girl. Cinna. Mags. The list seems never-ending. But only one person, one name, echoes in my thoughts repeatedly, forcing its way out of my mouth before I can stifle it.

"Peeta."

The flash of pain in Gale's gray eyes is unmistakable, but it vanishes as quickly as is it appeared. He's yet another person whom I have hurt.

"Peeta's still trapped in the Capitol," I choke on my tears and bury my face in Gale's chest again.

Gale just strokes my hair now, knowing that words are useless. That's one of the things I love about Gale. He can be so outspoken at times - but he understands the power of silence. It's how I know we're on the same page. Somehow, he understands.

Plutarch Heavensbee enters the room, causing me to look up and wipe the tears from my eyes. It's amazing how fast I regain my composure. It's a skill I have picked up over the past two years. Hiding my emotions from my mother. From Prim. From the prying eyes of the Capitol citizens. Although there are no cameras, I still feel the need to appear strong. I don't bother to play these games with Gale, who I have no choice but to be straightforward with, but I do not owe this man, this traitor who so heartlessly abandoned Peeta, the liberty of witnessing my current vulnerability. He still wears his one-of-a-kind mockingjay watch, as if to prove he is on my side. But all it does is remind me of how he cast Peeta aside in order to save me. My life isn't worth his torment.

"We'll be arriving in District 13 in one hour." he announces, with a sympathetic look towards me. This only makes me hate him more. I don't need his sympathy. I need him to listen to me.  
>"Wait!" I demand. Surprisingly, my voice sounds full of authority. The scared girl who was weeping helplessly in Gale's arm is now gone. Replaced with an older, more confident version of myself. I clear my throat and continue. "I want to return to District 12,"<br>"Nonsense. There is nothing there but ruins," Plutarch protests.  
>"I need to see it for myself - please! I can assure you, I will <em>not<em> cooperate until you allow me to visit! Besides, I need to retrieve a few things from my house at the Victor's Village. Please," I look into Plutarch's eyes, desperate for him to understand. If I cannot rescue Peeta, I should at least be allowed this small favor. Plutarch studies my face.

"I don't see what you hope to gain from this. But if you insist-"  
>"I insist," I cut him off. Plutarch purses his lips. Then he shakes his head.<br>"I'll have to consider it. I have a schedule to follow," Plutarch says, finally. He walks away without another word. Wasn't I the face of the rebellion? The reason why it commenced? For a leader of an uprising, I am awfully helpless. Gale's arm is still around me, and I push it away. It isn't right. With the all of the danger I consistently put him in, I do not need any more reasons to owe him. Yes, I need him, but this isn't fair. There is nothing I can give him in return but more grief. Gale stands up and starts to pace the room, running his hands through his dark hair. I stare blankly at the wall in front of me, at a loss for words. I cannot give up - but why fight a battle that I know I can't win?

Haymitch walks over and takes a seat beside me. I want to push him away. Tell him that I don't want him here. But there is an unusual hint of softness in his eyes.

"I need to talk to you," he says carefully. Gently, almost. Gentle isn't Haymitch's forte, so I must really be a mess. Gale exits the room without a word, and I brace myself for bad news. It has to be more bad news. Or else Haymitch wouldn't be looking at me like this. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. "As you already know, District 13 is a makeshift city underground. It's functional, it has food and clothes, but it is nothing like your old home,"  
>"I know that," it comes out as a whisper.<br>"I have contacts there, and they have come up with a plan," Haymitch continues.  
>"To rescue Peeta?" I ask, hopefully. He shakes his head.<br>"One step at a time, sweetheart," Haymitch smirks. "The Capitol suspects the rebels are using District 13 as a base. Pretty soon, their suspicions will be confirmed. But what they don't know is that the survivors of District 13 have been in contact with the rebels for the past three years," Haymitch scans my face, seeing if I understand what he is implying. The room is completely silent except for the hum of machines. I process the new information, and slowly, but surely realization sweeps over me. My face contorts in horror as I grasp the full meaning he is saying.  
>"Wait," I say. "You're telling me that the rebels have been in contact with District 13 for three years! That's not possible, the rebellion has only just started! Unless..."<p>

Unless the rebellion had been planned all this time. Unless _I _have been planned all along.

"Bingo," Haymitch says.  
>"But-" I begin to protest, but Haymitch cuts me off again.<br>"- you, specifically, defying the Capitol was not necessarily part of the original plan. Not in the way it happened, at least. The rebellion initially planned to take quite a different route. But the moment Peeta declared his love for you, I knew we had our secret weapon. The Capitol audience would eat it up. Star-crossed lovers forced to kill each other. But while they are sadistic, they are also sappy. If we could get them to love the two of you - you and Peeta - the Gamemakers would have no choice but to milk it, giving both of you the opportunity to live. The rest just fell into place. The Gamemakers switching the rules last minute, you and Peeta defying them with the berries. It was perfect. When Seneca Crane was hanged and Plutarch took his place, I knew that our time had come. All we had to do was get you and Peeta back on television,"  
>"<em>You<em> were responsible for sending Peeta and I back into the arena!" I spat, furiously. I notice that his hand had found its way to my shoulder at some point in our conversation, and I shove it off, angrily, rising to my feet.  
>"Not me, specifically, sweet-"<br>"But you had a say in it! You knew it was going to happen!" I point an accusing finger at him.  
>"It was all for the better good of Panem,"<br>"Better good? So many people have already died because you're sick little plan supposedly intended for the 'better good'!" I'm screaming again. "District 12 was obliterated! It doesn't exist anymore! It's gone! That's our HOME, Haymitch! That's not okay! How is that for the '_better good'_ of Panem? Think of all the people who were blown up by the Capitol because of you!"  
>"Because of <em>you<em>, Katniss. Because of you and the berries and-"  
>"Don't you dare turn this on me! Not when you were behind it all along!"<br>"People would have died regardless of the rebellion. People were dying in the Hunger Games every year!" Haymitch's face is turning a frightening shade of red, and his voice has been raised to a shout. "That's what the Capitol does, Katniss! They kill people to show who has the power!"  
>"WELL WHO'S IN POWER NOW, HAYMITCH? DO YOU HAVE ANY POWER?" I exclaim. I stare him down, unblinking. My eyes bulging. I'm shaking again, losing control of my legs. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, plopping back down onto the hospital bed. "No. You don't. The Capitol is still controlling us,"<p>

Haymitch looks at the ground and then up at me. There is an urgency in his eyes that startles me. I don't think I have ever seen Haymitch this sober for this long.

We are done fighting. We've ran out of angry words. So we just sit there in silence, staring at nothing in particular. Letting the truth sink in. I know he's right. People would have died, anyways. Rebellion or no rebellion, people are going to suffer at the mercy of the Capitol. The best we can do is fight back, and bring them down with us.

"Planned or unplanned - you are now the face of this rebellion. People all over Panem have hope because of _you_. You, the girl who was on fire, have sparked an uprising which will undoubtedly change Panem forever," He looks at me intently, as if expecting me to agree. Then he adds, "For the better good,"  
>"But what if I don't want to be the face of the rebellion? What if I don't want to be responsible for all the people who die fighting for me?"<br>"Don't be so naive. They are not fighting _for _you. They are fighting _because _of you, _for _themselves. For their freedom. For justice. But they need someone to inspire them. They need you," Haymitch's voice is level again. "You and your Mockingjay are responsible for leading Panem to victory,"  
>"My Mockingjay?" I ask, confused.<br>"Look around you. Look at the influence you and that little bird has had. It is the trademark for the revolt,"

I look down at the gold Mockingjay, still pinned to my shirt. Has it really become a symbol for resistance against the Capitol? _"She has no idea. The effect she can have". _Peeta's words ring through my head. Peeta. If only he were here.

"I wonder if Madge knew all the trouble this little Mockingjay would cause," I find myself saying aloud. My own words surprise me. I had completely forgotten about Madge. Madge. How could I forget that she was in District 12 when during the bombing? Was she still alive? Or was she one of the lucky few that escaped to district 13? "Are you in contact with Madge's father? Was he part of the rebellion?" I ask Haymitch. He looks at me sadly.  
>"The mayor and his wife perished, along with the majority District 12," he says, avoiding my gaze. I inhale sharply. Accepting what this must mean.<br>"She's dead," I say, no longer a question.  
>"I don't know, Katniss. She may still be alive-" Haymitch tries to comfort me. I shake my head, knowing better than to hold onto this false hope.<br>"She's dead," I repeat. I shut my eyes and mentally bid my old friend goodbye. She was one of the few friends I had in District 12. One of the few friends I had anywhere. "It was her aunt's pin, you know," I say finally. I don't know what brought me to say it. I don't see how it matted. But these words seemed to take Haymitch aback. He freezes, not saying a word. "It belonged to Maysilee Donner. She was in the arena with you, wasn't she?" I ask. I soon realize that this was the wrong thing to say. There's a faraway look in Haymitch's eyes. Like he's remembering something. More likely, some_one_. There's a trace of something familiar in the way he stares into the distance. It's the way Peeta looks at me. The way Gale looks at me. The way my father looked at my mother.  
>"You loved her!" I blurt, before I could stop myself.<p>

Haymitch wipes a tear from his eye, neither confirming nor denying it. The sight of Haymitch Abernathy crying is so foreign, so unfamiliar to me, that I am unable to speak. Like an Avox, I am mute. He loved Maysilee Donner. She was his ally in the games. I should have known. It should have been apparent to me. No wonder he turned to alcohol after his victory. The Capitol had undoubtedly murdered his family for his cleverness in the games. Because he used the force field that the Capitol had created. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't supposed to be part of the games. So the Capital made sure that they wouldn't be made a fool of again. They made an example of Haymitch. With his family dead and the only girl he ever loved gone, he must have felt too empty to continue living. I try to imagine myself in his position. Prim and my mother dead. Gale murdered, also, most likely. Peeta killed in the games. Would I be able to live in a world without them? Of course not. What would the purpose would I serve? What reason would I have to live? I wondered if this is how Johanna felt. Not likely, knowing her. She's content being alone - though I don't understand how she could be. I conclude that if I were in Haymitch's position, I would probably become an alcoholic, too. Wasting my days in an unkempt house, taking swigs of white liquor.

I find myself throwing my arms around Haymitch's neck, despite our previous argument. In the last ten minutes, I have come to understand fully understand him and his ways. He doesn't hug me back, but he doesn't resist, either. I hear him mutter something under his breath, but its gruff and unintelligible. I finally let go, and Haymitch stands up. There is no trace of tears on his stubbly face. It's as our discussion never happened. He looks at me, as if daring me to say something. I don't.

Plutarch walks in just then, a clipboard in his hands. Haymitch and my eyes meet, signifying a silent understanding that our previous conversation is not to be spoken of again. Gale walks behind Plutarch, a slight grin teasing the corners of his mouth. He nods in my direction, as if to fill me in on what Plutarch is about to say before he says it. And sure enough, eyeing me wearily, the former Gamemaker announces the news. We are making a pit stop.

I'm going back to District 12.

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><p><strong>You may hate it. you may like it. meh. I'll continue if I get at least 10 comments. Yes - 10 comments. I'm hard to please. don't be a haterrrr :)<strong>


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